


can't avoid this feeling

by loviejaehyun



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Awkward Mark Lee (NCT), F/M, First Time, Fluff, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped, Smut, Sweet Mark Lee (NCT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loviejaehyun/pseuds/loviejaehyun
Summary: Mark is about to fail his literature course, and he’d nearly accepted that fact until his coach pulled him aside after practice. Told him if he didn’t get his grade up before the end of the semester, he’d be benched, which means he probably wouldn’t get to be captain next year. Mark Lee is by no means a quitter, nor is he very willing to ask for help, so he’s gotten himself into quite a conundrum. None of his friends or teammates provide any consolation, and they definitely aren’t secretly masters of analyzing literature, but Johnny suggests the library (apparently they have tutors for this exact reason).It takes Mark a few more days of sulking and one more failed assignment to finally make his way to the library to sign up for a tutor. He tells himself he probably won’t even really sign up- just check it out- but then he sees you. Sitting behind the desk, holding a rather large coffee, and offering sign-ups. He thinks you’re really beautiful, and he’s positive he’s seen you somewhere in the stands at a hockey game before, so he’s ready to get on his knees and beg for help. But only if it’s from you.
Relationships: Mark Lee (NCT) & Reader, Mark Lee (NCT)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 87





	can't avoid this feeling

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting my works on ao3, but the rest can be found on my tumblr (loviejaehyun)!
> 
> thank you for reading!

Mark is about to fail his literature course, and he’d nearly accepted that fact until his coach pulled him aside after practice. Told him if he didn’t get his grade up before the end of the semester, he’d be benched, which means he probably wouldn’t get to be captain next year. Mark Lee is by no means a quitter, nor is he very willing to ask for help, so he’s gotten himself into quite a conundrum. None of his friends or teammates provide any consolation, and they definitely aren’t secretly masters of analyzing literature, but Johnny suggests the library (apparently they have tutors for this exact reason).

It takes Mark a few more days of sulking and one more failed assignment to finally make his way to the library to sign up for a tutor. He tells himself he probably won’t even really sign up- just check it out- but then he sees you. Sitting behind the desk, holding a rather large coffee, and offering sign-ups. He thinks you’re really beautiful, and he’s positive he’s seen you somewhere in the stands at a hockey game before, so he’s ready to get on his knees and beg for help. But only if it’s from you. 

It’s sheer luck that you really are there to tutor students in literature and composition specifically (it’s your forte), and Mark has to push through his deep shame to explain that he desperately needs to get his literature grade up, fast, to save his spot on the team. Part of you wants to turn him down because his schedule is a pure mess, and you doubt he’s really willing to put in the work to increase his grade. But his eyes are almost glistening, his cheeks flushed a light pink as he pleads, so you agree on a time to meet next week. 

The first time the two of you meet up, it’s at some back corner of the library that you’re worried Mark won’t even be able to find, but when you arrive he’s already perched at a desk with his glasses on, marked-up papers sprawled out in front of him. He’s really cute, you have to admit. You’d been to a fair share of hockey games in your three years at university, and Mark Lee is known for being the star player. You had made the assumption that he’d be just like any other jock- someone who breezes through university just to play sports, and doesn’t have to try very hard. But, you learn very quickly that Mark is no typical jock. 

He’s nearly frantic over his assignments, immediately opening up to you about the hours he’s had to stay up reading and rereading books for his assignments. “I just don’t understand how the fuck I’m supposed to know what the author’s stance on feminism is?” he whines, exasperated and really cute. 

“Let me just take a look at your papers and see what you’re doing wrong,” you tell him. And you hate to admit it, but it’s fair that he’s getting failing grades. His analyses are all very shallow and his writing isn’t very professional, but you can tell that Mark isn’t stupid by any means. You spend nearly an hour reading his papers and giving him feedback, and his eyes light up when you tell him that he can definitely raise his grade with some help. 

“Do you really think so?” he questions, and he’s vibrating from the compliment. 

“Of course, Mark. You just need a push in the right direction,” you promise. 

Once all the painful literature talk is out of the way, Mark seems to gain back the confidence he must carry in the hockey rink. He’s a bit of a flirt, really. He’s desperate to know what your major is, where you’re from, what you like to do outside of university. You think you need to cut this off quickly. 

“Mark, I’m flattered, really. But, I’m just your tutor. That’s it,” you explain, very self-aware of the no-dating-your-students policy you had set up for yourself. And some small part of you believes that this just must be what Mark does with everyone. 

“We can’t even be friends?” he asks, and he even gives you a pout. A pure, baby-faced, pout that has you feeling a little guilty for being so brutally honest. 

“We can be friends, sure. But, I don’t date my students,” and he’s genuinely sulking now. 

You leave it at that, packing up your bag and giving him your number as a formality (that’s it! you tell yourself). As you walk away, Mark decides he has a new goal for his tutoring sessions. Sure, he wants to pass literature, but he wants to make you change your mind. Just one date, and he can wait a semester. And Mark always achieves what he sets his mind to. 

★

The next time you see Mark, he’s stumbling into your spot in the library, still clad in his practice jersey and he drops a tattered copy of The Handmaid’s Tale in front of you. His hair is all over the place, sticking up in each and every direction, and he’s clearly out of breath. 

“I’ve read this twice and I don’t understand it,” is what he tells you, huffing and puffing as he settles in. You’re not sure why he’s so frantic, because he’s still three minutes early, but you don’t mention it. You’ve brought a corrected copy of one of his past essay’s to give to him, but you push it aside in favor of relieving his worry and focusing on his current assignment. 

Your heart might race a little bit when he has to scoot in close next to you as you point out some specific passages in the book to him, and how the hell does he still smell so good when he clearly just came from practice? The way his eyes-widen and his mouth gapes when you explain to him is picture worthy, you think. 

“What the fuck? You’re so smart?” Mark says (almost questions), and now your heart is really pounding. This is your forte, and you’ve read this book a few times for pleasure, so you’re not sure if you’re deserving of the compliment, but you’ll take it from Mark Lee. His handwriting is terrible but he diligently takes notes on what you’re saying, stopping you frequently to ask you questions, and it’s clear to you that you’ve misjudged Mark. 

He’s really smart, and it’s obvious that he works really hard. And you thought he was an airhead, but you realize now that he might just be a nerd. He laughs at his own jokes even when they’re not funny, and he talks about video games and music way too much. Mark Lee is cute, no doubting it, but you stop yourself when you remember that’s not what you’re here for. 

Regardless, he continues to worm his way into your heart, offering to get you a coffee and digging for information on your interests. You might be fucked. (Mark knows he’s fucked, because he thinks you look absolutely beautiful even in this dim library lighting, and he has the unbearable urge to hold your hand.)

★★

It becomes a far-too-normal part of your routine to spend time with Mark. You’re frequently seeing him in the back of the library, often late at night after his practices, and he always insists on bringing you a drink (he brought you coffee once, but you had to inform him that it was a bit too late for so much caffeine). He has a big match coming up, and he’s devastated after the first assignment he turns in with your help comes back with only a slightly higher grade. 

“Am I just too stupid for literature?” he asks you, and he looks exactly like a kicked puppy. 

“You’re not stupid at all, Mark Lee. Some people are just better at certain things and not as good at others. I mean, you’re a god at hockey and I can’t even stand on ice skates,” you assure him. The way he lights up makes you wish you’d complimented him more before. 

“You think I’m a god at hockey?” is all he replies with, while his ears tint a bright red. He doesn’t want to admit how much your reassurance means to him. You give him a pinch on the arm in response and you try to ignore how toned his biceps are. 

Mark goes into overdrive for his next assignment, going as far as texting you at random points in the day with questions like, “so would you agree that Steinbeck makes a commentary on family being about loyalty”. It’s admirable how hard he works, really. 

You can’t help but want to go to his next hockey match, deliberately hiding yourself in the far back, ways away from the self-proclaimed Mark Lee fanclub. There has to be about twenty girls and boys cheering for him the whole match, talking too loudly about how sexy he looks in his uniform. 

Somehow when Mark looks across the crowd before the game, the first thing he sees is you. He gives you a blinding smile, waving dramatically and nearly smacking his teammate in the face. You want to bury yourself in the stands when his fan club turns back to you with a scowl. 

The one thing you can agree with the fanclub on, is that Mark does look sexy in his uniform. When you had watched the matches in the past you were more involved in the plays itself than looking at the players. But now that you really look, you can’t take your eyes off Mark. He’s a center, and his skills surpass his reputation. You think you might pass out when he bodycheck’s someone for the first time (when did he get so strong?).

Mark is also very obviously a leader. The awkward, flirty Mark you’ve been spending so much time with disappears when he’s in the rink, and he’s replaced by a confident, swift player. You can hear his voice over the cheers of others as he guides his teammates, and you feel like you can literally see the cogs in his head turning as he initiates incredible plays. 

It’s no surprise to you when they win, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of Mark taking off his helmet and tackling his teammates in a hug. You also feel a tad bit flushed at the sight, with his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, along with his entire uniform sticking to his body. The players have to retreat to the locker room, causing the fan club to let out an audible whine. You’re getting ready to head out when you receive another text from Mark Lee himself. 

wait for me, I’ll be back on the ice in a second  
So you wait. The stands have cleared significantly, and you catch sight of a few players leaving fully dressed and shouting about celebration drinks. Finally, Mark follows through on his promise, skating right back out onto the ice, although clad in joggers and a tshirt. You almost don’t notice that he has an extra, beat-up pair of skates in his hand. 

You make your way down to him, taking quick note that he’s still a sweaty mess, but he looks ethereal. 

“Sit down. I want you to show me those ice skating skills,” he demands. This is the last thing you want to do- embarrass yourself in front of Mark Lee. But you remember how he smiled when you admitted you couldn’t skate to save your life, so you think it might be worth it, and you sit down on the bench in front of him. 

He laces up the skates with a tender touch, apologizing for the size and the grime of them because they’re someone’s old back-ups. You never thought you’d see a day when the star player of the hockey team is kneeled down in front of you, leading you towards inevitable embarrassment. It’s just as shameful as you’d expect, when he has to guide you with both of his hands onto the ice and you almost immediately slip. 

At some point during your slow descent around the ice, some of the overhead lights turn off, creating a weird ambience that makes the lines of Mark’s face even sharper. He looks so in his element, and so happy, that you decide it was worth it to nearly fall on your ass for him. And he’s gripping both of your hands tightly in his, promising he won’t let you fall, so you can suffer a bit longer. 

The expected happens when you lose your balance and you begin to tumble towards the hard ground, and Mark has to tug you up into his chest to save your ass from bruising. You end up being much closer to him than you’ve ever been before, literally chest to chest with his warm breath fanning over your cheeks. He still smells great, even with the dried sweat. And you look up at him, maybe to thank him, but all the words leave your head when you look into his eyes and you take in the proximity of your lips to his.

Your heart is still pounding from the near-accident, and perhaps from the way his arms are tightly latched around your waist. And you’re so entranced by the sight of him and the feeling, that you must forget who you are and what you’re doing, so you lean in ever-so-slightly. Your lips are just barely brushing his when the sound of the zamboni startles the both of you. Mark releases you and you stumble, finally tumbling back onto the hard surface of the ice. It would be more embarrassing, but he comes tumbling down with you, smacking his knee on the surface and giving an over-dramatic cry. 

You can’t help but laugh at the sight of Mark clutching his knee, pouting excessively and cursing the zamboni for interrupting. But perhaps it’s for the best, because you still have half the semester to raise Mark’s literature grade and you made a promise to yourself. You just have to be a little more patient, or Mark will get tired of you first. 

★★★

The almost-kiss doesn’t get mentioned again. Maybe because Mark remembered your strict rule, or maybe because he regrets what happens. You try not to think too much about it, drowning yourself in your own school work until Mark texts you his next assignment due date. He’s supposed to be meeting you at the library tonight, and you’re there way too early cramming for a test, when you overhear some dramatic whispers. 

“I heard Mark Lee got injured at hockey practice tonight. He might be out for a few weeks,” a girl says, looking devastated when you’re sure she’s never even spoken to him. The other girls around him play up the dramatics, and you begin to feel a sinking worry in your stomach. 

You still have about an hour before he’s supposed to meet you, and you have the address to his apartment from the time you drove him home after a tutoring session. Somehow, instinct takes over, and you find yourself leaving the library to buy those chocolates Mark said he likes and heading to his apartment. 

When you arrive, the lights aren’t on so you feel even more worried. By this time, Mark should’ve been heading to the library and you think you might’ve missed him, so you opt to give him a call while you wait on his doorstep. The phone rings for an unusually long amount of time, and then you hear him. 

“Shit! Am I late to meet you? I’m sorry I was napping, I can be there in ten minutes-”

“Mark. You’re not late. But, uh, I’m actually outside of your apartment right now,” and then there’s the sound of fumbling, maybe his phone being dropped, and shuffling around. 

“Give me three minutes,” Mark says, and then he hangs up. 

True to his word, the door is opening in three minutes and you’re greeted with Mark looking the cutest you’ve ever seen him. He’s wearing his glasses, albeit askew on his face, and his shirt might be on backwards. He definitely did just wake up from a nap, with flushed cheeks and pillow lines on his face. 

In his rush to throw open the door and greet you, he winces with the movement and his rumored injury proves itself to be true. Mark tries to subtly grasp his waist, flinching at the touch, and puts on a very fake smile to disguise it. 

“I heard you got injured. I didn’t want to make you come all the way out, and I brought chocolates?” you offer, showing him the bag in your hand. The smile he gives in return is real, splitting his cheeks and wrinkling the corners of his eyes. He ushers you inside, lecturing you on how it’s too cold for you to be outside (as if he’s not the one with an injury). 

“It’s just a few bruised ribs, I’m okay. Got bodychecked by Jeno in practice,” he explains, and you’re familiar enough with Lee Jeno to understand how he has the power to cause such injury. Despite said bruised ribs, Mark begins haphazardly throwing clothes off his couch and offering you a seat once it’s all cleaned. Other than the clothes, Mark’s apartment isn’t very messy- it’s cozy and it smells like him. You kind of hate yourself for knowing his exact scent. 

You should be tutoring Mark and providing him help on his next essay, but he keeps wincing in your peripheral and trying to hide it. Eventually, you can’t take it anymore, and you make him sit on his couch and tell you where his ice packs and pain pills are. Mark is quite happy to have you doting after him, pressing an ice pack over his shirt (did he put it on backwards?) and force feeding him chocolate and pain pills. 

You even offer to make him dinner, just fried rice, but he thinks his heart might just burst. He listens to you talking about your day until dinner is made, and then you encourage him to play a movie and forget about the assignment. Mark knows your stance on being romantically involved with him, and he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but when you lean over him to adjust the ice pack, he leans forward just slightly to press a kiss on your temple. When Mark has fallen asleep on his couch, stomach full and pain pills kicking in, you can’t help but lay a chaste kiss on his forehead before you let yourself out. 

★★★★

The semester comes closer to an end, with Mark recovering from his injury and returning to the rink, his literature grade rising until it’s above passing, and he’s completely solidified a place in your heart. You start spending more and more time with him outside of tutoring, once you realize how much fun you have just being by his side. There’s one time where you end up having lunch with his teammates, who tease him to no end and thank you excessively for making their future captain a literature genius (their words exactly). 

It feels like there’s no possible way to return to being strangers with Mark. And it scares you how much you don’t want that to happen. You want to be around Mark all the time. You want to hear about his hockey practices. You want to see him when he’s sweaty in his practice jersey. You want to see him playing the guitar mindlessly, and you want to listen to him ramble about video games. It’s absolutely terrifying, honestly. 

But it gets less scary when you’re with Mark and he smiles at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. And the way he listens to you with his full attention when you talk, even if you’re just telling a story about your professor. He’s truly such a good, sweet person, and the exact opposite of the unfair stereotypes that you’d placed on him before you met him. 

You want Mark to be yours so bad, even if it’s just as friends. But he’s reminded you plenty of times over the course of the semester that he wants much more than that, so it’s not nerve wracking when you come to your last tutoring session, the day before his final class, and you have something written at the bottom of your annotations to his essay. 

Will you go on a date with me this weekend? It says, in red ink. 

You watch as Mark skims over the notes at the end of the session, getting to the final page and nearly pushing the paper away, before he literally double takes. He has to rip the pages back apart, clearly staring at the note you’ve written him, and then he’s beaming. It takes you by surprise when his response doesn’t come in words, but with him jumping out of his seat, nearly knocking it over, and he’s smothering you in a hug. You take that as a yes. 

★★★★★

The plan for the date is just a simple trip to a restaurant across town that Mark told you a million times that he wanted to try. You don’t tell him that, but when you drive up to the parking lot, he reaches over the middle console to grab your hand and he’s vibrating in excitement. He’s so fucking cute, you think, that you have to lean over and pull him in for a kiss. The way his eyes widen and he jerks forward, locking his seatbelt, has you laughing and pulling him in for another chaste kiss. 

The food is great, but the company is better. For someone who had been flirting relentlessly for the past few months of your relationship, Mark is awfully shy on a first date. You have to grip his hand across the table to ask him to stop shaking his leg, and he smiles sheepishly. 

He’s so cute, and he insists on paying for the full bill even though you’ve insisted that you want to congratulate him for passing his literature class. 

“I had a really great, really beautiful tutor,” he tells you, swiping the check out of your reach. 

Hours pass in each other's presence and it feels like minutes, you just can’t get enough. You don’t have anything else planned, but you desperately want to be around Mark more and maybe kiss him until his lips are raw, so you invite him to come home with you. He accepts, but not without bouncing on his feet in excitement (so, so cute). 

In your apartment, Mark is still fidgeting with nervousness, shaking his leg from his seat on your couch until you decide to move across the couch and carefully place your legs over his, straddling his hips. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, fingers tracing the sharp edges of his jaw. He nods frantically (you think you might hear his neck crack) and then he’s seizing forward to press a kiss to your lips. Mark is quick to lick into your mouth, tracing your teeth and the inside of your lips until he feels like he has a mapped layout of them. 

There’s spit slicking the two of you together, and your skin is burning into his with the contact, so Mark doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. All he wants is you, in any way you’ll let him have you, and he doesn’t ever want to stop. Mark feels like he’s free falling, but he’s not scared of reaching the bottom, knowing that you’ll be there to catch him. 

He lets you grind down on his lap until he physically can’t take it anymore, and he grasps your hips to guide you to turn around in his lap and he can get his fingers on the buttons of your jeans. Mark whispers in your ear between scalding kisses he places on your neck, checking, and double checking, that you want this, before he slides your pants off far-too-smoothly and has his fingers caressing the front of your panties. 

It’s hard to ignore how hard his cock is, pressed into the small of your back, but Mark slips his fingers into your folds and over the increasing wetness, rubbing against your clit until you throw your head back against his shoulder and he can suck on the skin at the front of your neck. He uses your own slick to rub over your pussy until he brings you tumbling over the edge, all while you still have your panties on (albeit, soaked) and your shirt sticking to your chest. 

And now you’re really fucking desperate, regardless of the extremely satisfying orgasm, so you rise on shaky legs off his lap to turn back around. You’re met with the incredible sight of Mark Lee, the sweetest boy you’ve ever met, with his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from all the kissing and sucking. His cheeks are more flushed than you’ve ever seen them, and he looks like he might just blow his load as soon as you put your mouth on his cock. As much as you want that, you don’t want that right now, so you grasp his hand and pull him in the direction of your bedroom.

Somewhere along the way, you’ve discarded your soaked panties and your shirt, silently encouraging Mark to do the same. His stomach is far more toned than you’ve expected, and there’s still some light yellow bruising on his sore ribs. You press a few light kisses there once you’ve gotten him settled against the headboard of your bed, and you’re hyper aware of his past injury, even if he insists it isn’t hurting anymore. 

But he lets you straddle his hips again regardless, clumsily sliding the condom on between your bodies that are essentially glued together, and then you slide down onto the delicious stretch of his cock. Mark has waited far too long to have you like this for him to cum so fast, so he begs you to slow down with a tight grip on your hips and hushed whispers. He’s a little embarrassed, but you press so many light kisses over the sharp curves of his cheekbones, that it passes quickly. Once he feels like he’s gotten his body under control, he lets you start to rise and fall on his cock, and he can tell when he presses against the right spot inside of you.

Your moans are fucking incredible, and Mark isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to go a day without hearing them again. He can’t stop kissing you, licking over your lips when you’re too far gone to commit to the motions. Mark grips your asscheeks as you grind down on his cock, guiding you and leading you with such care and emotion. You surprise him when you cum around his cock for the second time, legs collapsing under you and your chest falling to press into his. It only takes on last clench around him for his orgasm to be set off, filling up the condom with a groan. 

The room stinks of sweat, and you’re both dripping in it, but neither of you make any effort to separate from one another. Mark brings his knees up behind you, pulling you even closer to his chest and in his tender embrace. You feel like you’re on fucking cloud nine, just wanting to burrow yourself in Mark until winter passes. 

Eventually Mark tells you it’s a bit uncomfortable to have his soft dick in a used condom (you have to laugh at that), so you rise off of him and immediately collapse onto the mattress next to him. He maneuvers around your bathroom to find a towel to wipe the two of you off, just to end up flopping down on top of you and burying his head between your breasts. 

“I could die happy, right here,” he murmurs, the sound muffled from how his mouth is wedged in your skin. You laugh, the motion setting him off, and then he’s laughing, too. Mark truly couldn’t be happier that he almost failed literature. 

★Bonus★

“Excuse me,” you say, not sounding as polite as the phrase should be. 

You’ve kind of shoved your way in front of the Mark Lee fanclub, because they don’t really need to be here anymore. Now you’re the one clad in a jersey with his number on it, but it’s actually one of his old jerseys. It smells like him, and it’s worn in all the right places. 

You get a few scowls now that you’ve sat in the very front row, your large “MY BOYFRIEND IS CAPTAIN!” sign probably blocking the fanclub behind you. But you don’t care, because your boyfriend of six months is the star player of the hockey team, there’s scouts here to watch him play, and he fucked you in the locker room before the rest of the team showed up. 

Mark sees your sign and doubles over laughing, but then he blows you a big kiss. You dramatically catch it, pretending to slip it in your pocket, and then the match is starting. Spoiler: they win.


End file.
